


this turbulence wasn't forecasted

by neverwherever



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Cycle of Reincarnation, Experimental Style, Gen, Melancholy, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Canon, Reincarnation, Tragedy, inspired by a dream, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverwherever/pseuds/neverwherever
Summary: The last thing the boy’s mother said to him before she sent him on his way with nothing but a rucksack and a broad-brimmed hat to shield him from the hot hot desert sun was, You have a destiny.A young boy journeys across Hyrule alone.(Inspired by a strange dream I had the other night.)
Relationships: Ganondorf & Link & Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	this turbulence wasn't forecasted

The last thing the boy’s mother said to him before she sent him on his way with nothing but a rucksack and a broad-brimmed hat to shield him from the hot hot desert sun was,  _ You have a destiny. _

She’d said it many times before; since the boy had learned to speak he must have heard it hundreds of times. He’d ask her what she meant by it, but she would never answer, only smile and stroke her hand idly through his hair and say,  _ It doesn’t matter yet. _

His mother was a strange creature. Certainly she must love him — didn’t all mothers love their brood? — but she watched him with only a sort of distant affection, her expression often closer to bemusement than true fondness. The boy would never learn whatever joke was on her mind, not even the day she ushered him out the door.

They lived far out in the sand wastes and rarely saw anyone else. The boy knew there was a city nearby, but his mother told him he would never be allowed there. She said she wasn’t allowed there either, not anymore; even when she went to the bazaar she had to keep her face covered lest she be recognized. She told him she’d been banished, though the boy never truly understood why.

_ You are worth it,  _ she’d tell him, and in those moments her eyes would burn fiercely with a sort of wild awe.  _ All my life, to bear such power. _

His mother took him to the bazaar sometimes, when she needed an extra set of arms to carry the thick-skinned fruits and paper-wrapped meats. While she haggled with the vendors, he would wade ankle-deep into the cool oasis pool and allow the young unmarried women who wished for children of their own to fawn over him. It was nice, to let them pat his rounded cheeks and put little braids into his hair and offer him sweet cold cubes of fruit. But then his mother would return and grip him tightly by the wrist and pull him away. She’d say,  _ They don’t deserve you.  _ She’d say,  _ They don’t know what lies within you. _

The boy never understood her, but he believed her. Why shouldn’t he? She was his mother, after all. And he did not question it when, not long after he turned ten years old, she fed him a breakfast of mushrooms over rice that kept him cool in the heat, handed him a map with a carefully drawn line, and led him by the hand outside.

_ Do not stray. It is time. You have a destiny. _

The boy studied the map for a long few moments, adjusted his hat on his head, and took the first of many determined steps forward. He did not look back.

* * *

It took him more than a day to cross the great desert. There were many dangers hidden among the sand dunes, but the boy knew the desert well — knew which pillars marked the territory of the underground monsters, knew how to spot a camouflaged creature, knew the cactus fruits and the melons hidden beneath large shaded vine leaves could be split open to scoop out the soft hydrating flesh.

He passed by the city he could never enter, marveled as he always did at its towering pinnacle stone and the clear fresh water pouring down from its peak. Where did that water come from? How did it never stop? He would probably never get to know.

There was a single guard posted at the southern gate into the city. She watched him curiously as he passed but lost none of the rigidity in her spine. 

He stopped by the bazaar, once more, to drink from the cool oasis, to sleep in one of the inn’s beds between snoring sand-burned travelers and . Once again, there were women, but this time their brows were furrowed in confusion, in concern.

_ Sa’vaaq, little voe. Are you lost? Where have you come from? Where are your parents, little voe?  _

The boy did not answer their questions, only held up the map between his two small hands and asked,  _ Can you take me here? _

The women’s eyes widened, and they looked at each other with surprise.

_ Why would you want to go there? _

The boy looked at them unblinking.  _ There are people there I need to see. _

His mother never told him who those people would be. She said it wouldn’t matter. She said he would know.

The women were quietly debating what to do with him and the boy was about to give up on them and keep going on foot, but a much smaller, much paler woman came over then, and said she and her caravan could take him to the Outskirt Stable. The boy didn’t know that place, but she said it was on the way, so he supposed it was okay.

He rode in the back of her wagon sandwiched between barrels and crates. Her children were back there too, a boy and girl, about his age. The girl perched on one of the crates and swung her legs back and forth as she observed him. 

_ I like your hair,  _ she said.  _ It’s a pretty color. And long! _

The boy looked away from her and tugged at one of his braids. His mother always gave such attention to his hair, brushed it out and washed it and kept it flowing and clean. Left to its own devices, it would get wild, sticking out in all directions.

The girl’s brother looked at him with his head tilted to one side.  _ Wanna play a game?  _ he asked.

The boy nodded, just once. He’d never had other children to play with, out in the sand wastes. It was a simple game: one of them would pick an object of a certain color, and the other two would guess what it was.

_ I see something orange, something blue, something brown, something red. _

The canyon cliffs curving high above them, the scraggly little flowers scraping out a meager existence in the shade, the dappled coat of the horse pulling the wagon, the boy’s hair sticking out from beneath his hat, brushing against his shoulders.

The wind blew fierce through the tunnel-like canyon; the boy tilted his hat to keep the sand out of his eyes. Up along the sandstone walls, people were pacing along wobbly wooden scaffolding and shouting instructions to each other. They seemed like they were digging for something. The boy could hear stray words of his own language echoing down to the path the wagon rattled along.

As they finally emerged from the canyon, water began to fall from the sky. The boy turned his face upwards, surprised: rain. He’d known of it, but never seen it. Never felt the pleasant cold sprinkling of it upon his skin. The other children shrieked, and hopped from the back of the wagon into the front seat to duck beneath their mother’s arms, but the boy laid flat in the wagon bed and let the rain fall fully upon him.

The boy slept that night at the stable. The bed was soft, and on either side of him scruffy-cheeked travelers snored. On the other side of the room he could hear the woman tucking the two children into bed. The boy slanted his eyes open to see, in the flickering low light, the woman scattering kisses over the children’s foreheads and cheeks and the bridges of their noses.

The boy slept lightly that night, floating in the space between waking and dreaming, where the conversations the stablekeeper had with various travelers were muted and soft. A merchant woman was selling fruit,  _ would you like any wildberries, fresh picked yesterday _ ; a farmer had encountered a bokoblin in his field,  _ very strange, the creatures seem to be getting braver lately _ ; a pair of royal guardswomen were headed to Gerudo Town,  _ diplomatic business, can’t say more than that I’m afraid _ .

When day broke the boy set out on his own, going up on tiptoes to scatter a few rupees on the stablekeeper’s counter before making course for his destination. He felt the eyes of the young stablehand woman on his back as he walked off alone.

He circled around a tall cliff, where a great round structure stood; strong men and women with weapons slung over their shoulders made their way across a bridge over a lake and up to it, laughing with confidence; the boy could hear cheers pouring out from the structure, even this early in the morning. On the other side of the hill the land opened up into a big wide plain. 

Far off in the distance in almost every direction, there were mountains. A big volcano smoked ominously to the north. Dotted all along the plain, the boy saw villages and farms and little settlements, distinguishable by the smoke of cooking fires and the color of stone and wood buildings contrasting against the green of the grass and the trees. And on the other side of the big plain, the spires of a stately castle were plainly visible against the blue sky.

The boy looked at it, and he traced his thumb along his opposite palm, following the lines marked there. Something stirred around inside his stomach.

It was still early, but traffic along the roads was growing heavier by the minute. Wagons rattled by, and sometimes their drivers would yell at the boy to watch out. Others trotted by on horseback, and some walked along with their packs on their back, like him; one merchant sold sweet things, and at the sight of him smiled and gave him a piece of honey candy for free. The boy nibbled away at it slowly; it melted slow and sweet in his mouth.

Sometimes soldiers and guards passed by, in shining armor and crisp blue uniforms. The boy quickly learned that they were the ones most likely to ask him probing questions, and when he saw them approaching he would duck off the road and pretend to be playing in the tall grass, or else he would linger close to another traveler as if they were together.

When the sun was high in the sky the boy arrived in a market town where merchants had set up stalls spanned across every cobblestone. It was like the bazaar, but louder and wilder and more crowded and most of the people here were small and slight like the woman who gave him a ride. The boy bought a fish-shaped savory pie and sat on the stone steps of a building to dig into it. They didn’t get a lot of fish out in the desert and the boy found he really liked the taste of it, and his stomach rumbled harder with the first bite; he scarfed it down in minutes.

He meant to leave the marketplace right away but there were so many stalls that he got distracted for a little while. One man had a display of glittering jewelry laid out in the shining sun; he saw the boy looking and smiled. He probably knew the boy didn’t have enough money to buy anything but he told him, _this is amber from Death Mountain, I bought these sapphires from a Zora in Lanayru,_ _this diamond came from a hidden cavern in the snowy peaks of Hebra._

The boy didn’t know these places, he had never met a Zora, he’d never seen snow. The man’s stories made his head spin; his eyes went wide. The man laughed, and ruffled his hair, said,  _ maybe someday you’ll see some of it for yourself, kid. _

By the time the boy left the market town, the sun was on its way down, its deepening golden light streaming between the mountain peaks to the west. Within an hour the light had gone from gold to purple and the boy wondered if he should have stayed at the market for the night. He thought about climbing a tree and drifting to sleep among the branches, but then he looked across the field and saw the flickering lamplights going up across the castle town, saw the yellow glow coming from the castle’s many windows — there must have been hundreds of them. And he thought,  _ I am close,  _ and resolved to keep on walking.

He left the road and started cutting through the field; it was a faster, more direct path. As he moved through the high grass, green-glow fireflies flitted up from their perches on the swaying blades and floated above his head. He reached out to try and catch one, but it dodged away from his small grasping hand. He tilted his head back to watch them fly towards the sky, and got distracted by the sight of the stars emerging faintly as the sun went down.

Mountains to the east and west, the great volcano to the north, and to the south, the big cliffs that separated the sand-colored desert of his youth from this brightly green plain. Here he was in the valley of the world, a big big world that his mother had told him so little of. Maybe after this journey was done, maybe once he had accomplished whatever destiny he was meant for, he could travel some more. He could see some of that world for himself. Maybe he could do it with the people he was meant to meet. Maybe their fate was to do it together.

* * *

When the boy arrived in the castle town it was very late, or perhaps very early. It took him more than an hour to cross from the entrance gate, through the central square and to the other side; he looked around wide-eyed at all the buildings squished close together, and the big stone walls keeping it all safely enclosed. It was the biggest town he’d ever been in, and even now when the sky was greying before sunrise there were people about, readying their stalls and opening shutters and sweeping up the cobblestones. 

Two men leaning heavily on each other and singing out of tune stumbled past him as he passed by a building smelling like the clear burning liquid that used to make his mother’s cheeks turn pink when she drank it. A young woman opened the door to another building as he walked by, and the warm smell of baking bread wafted out. The boy paused for a moment — he was hungry, and sleepy, and intrigued, but he was too near to his goal to stop now. Maybe after, maybe after.

The pre-dawn air was quiet and warm; the sun was rising, but as yet its emerging glow was still hidden behind the castle. The boy’s footsteps were soft as he approached the great castle gates. The guards standing there were relaxed in posture, and their conversation was lilting and lighthearted.

_ Quite a celebration, wasn’t it? It’s been some time since the king hosted a feast like that. _

_ Oh yes, the food was fine, and all that ale for the offering... _

_ Yes, and did you see, the princess and her knight slipped out to the gardens near the end? _

_ Ooh,  _ one of them said, and laughed.  _ Romantic _ .  _ Do you think the princess finally confessed her affection for him? _

_ No, never,  _ the other laughed.  _ I doubt even she knows how she feels. _

Another guard smacked his shoulder.  _ You shouldn’t disrespect her highness like that! _

_ Not disrespect if it’s true, eh?  _ He replied, laughing, and the boy stepped out of the shadows, then, and their laughter halted abruptly.

When they registered the sight of him, their faces shifted into that mixture of soft affection and concerned confusion the boy had seen on many faces, these past few days. They asked him the same questions, too: was he lost, where were his parents, why was he here?

But here, so so close, the boy was patient.

_ I come from far away,  _ he said.  _ My mother told me, there’s two people here I need to find. _

_ Who?  _ They asked, gathered in a loose semi-circle around him, their confusion deepening the wrinkles in their foreheads. They were crouched to be at his height; one of them reached out to adjust his crooked hat.

The boy didn’t know the answer. Something in his stomach, in his chest, was rumbling. Without thought, he turned his left hand upwards, reached it up to them, revealed to them his palm; showed the shape imprinted there, of three triangles brought together as one.

It was as if a cold wave crashed over the guards. They stood abruptly, and took hasty backwards steps away from him. Their expressions morphed into something horrified, something afraid. Their eyes were wide.

_ You have to leave,  _ one of them said, and another interrupted, said,  _ Are you insane, we must take him to the king — _

The boy didn’t know why they were arguing, but the fear in their eyes sparked the fierce lunging of the thing inside him; it leapt up his throat, raced out to the tips of his fingers, burned up behind his eyes. 

The sun came up over the castle, then, turning the tall spire into a flat black silhouette, and its light cascaded down over the boy, and over his outstretched palm where the shape on his palm was set aglow.

And for one moment more, he was the boy, and he was confused, and he was scared at the feeling inside him, and he wanted to hold onto his mother’s hand —

And the next moment he was the Calamity, and the boy was no more.

Ganon roared towards the sky, fierce and triumphant; the guards and the town and the vessel that had served its purpose in bringing him here were destroyed near-instantly beneath the force of his purple pulsing power. He had waited millennia for this, since his last defeat, and this time he would not fail.

Out in the far wastes of the Gerudo Desert, a woman felt, impossibly, a distant tremor, imagined she could hear a great cry carried on the howling sand-filled wind. She smiled, and pulled a hood up over her head, and left her little house — a house with two beds, and two chairs at the table, and a trunk full of clothes that would fit a small boy — and she walked out into the desert sandstorm, towards lands unknown.

**Author's Note:**

> I sort of doubt anyone read this but if you did, thank you, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!


End file.
